


Tomcat

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Crack Fic, Gen, animal fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:45:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk





	Tomcat

Tomcat

_This story was inspired by Suzan Lovett's excellent story_[ _IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT_](http://www.starskyhutcharchive.com/starskyhutchgen/classics/cattales2.html) _._

  


  


  


Tomcat

  


5300 words.  G.

  


Hutch crouched in the shadows, Magnum in his hands, sweat sliding down his neck.He’d left Starsky a message, but there was no curly haired partner backing him up—at least not yet.

And…he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Freeze!”He jumped from the shadows, training his gun on the doctor-gone-wrong.

The doctor turned, far too slowly and calmly.“Well well, what have we here?One of the annoying policemen.I see you’ve discovered my base of operations.”He spread his hand out, indicating the empty warehouse, filled with his equipment.

Large cages sat around.And something that looked like a prop from an old movie.In several of the cages, lions paces.Others housed nervous-looking pandas.One had a koala.

Strapped to the mad science chair, fighting tears, sat a young woman.

“Don’t you want to see the last exhibit?I have a great deal of quality animals to sell to the zoo.But I need one more.”His hand hovered over a lever, and his smile was evil.

“Don’t you dare!”Hutch aimed at him.“I’ll do it.I’ll shoot.”

“Ah. But you won’t. If you do, there is no one who will be able to turn these dear creatures back into the rightful human forms.”He spread a hand out, gesturing to the cages of consternated looking animals.

Gently, he pushed the lever.“Ah, but do not fear.She will make a lovely leopard.”

Before Hutch’s astonished eyes, the young woman began to morph into a sleek, compact, spotted leopard.Too small for its bonds now, it jumped free of the machine and the pooled clothes—only to be caught deftly by the net the doctor held out.He shoved her into a waiting cage with practiced ease.

Hutch gained control of his shock.“Change her back, Zeoland!”

The doctor gently shook his head.“I think, perhaps, I will change you, instead.”He raised an eyebrow—and something hard smashed down on the back of Hutch’s head.

The doctor and his goon stared down at the unconscious detective.The goon, Bob Jensen, prodded Hutch with his steel-toed boot.

“Gonna turn him into another zoo critter?Another leopard?” rasped Bob.

“No, I have enough of them.I think perhaps something a little less dignified for our friend.”He smirked, and rubbed his upper lip.

Together they strapped Hutch into the machine.He slumped there, his hair and clothes messed up, his breathing shallow.The doctor turned a few dialed and knobs, smirking, and then pulled the lever.

Before their eyes, the blond man disappeared into the pile of his clothes. Zoeland yanked off the top shirt to reveal an orange housecat.It lay on the chair, unblinking.One paw twitched, and a whisker.

“I think he might have enjoyed that transformation, had he been awake.Ah, well—toss it into the streets, Jensen, with the rest of the trash.”

#

“I can’t understand it, Captain.Hutch told me to meet him there, but when I arrived, there was no one and nothing.Only Hutch’s car, parked outside.The place was empty.”Starsky ran a hand back through his already disheveled curly hair.“He wouldn’t have sent me on a wild goose chase.That means they got to him—and cleared out, before I arrived.”

Again, he cursed the delay it had taken before he received the message.It had been their day off, and he’d been at the bowling alley with his latest girlfriend.He’d thought Hutch was similarly occupied—only to find out, when he called Hutch, that he wasn’t in, and when he called the precinct, that Hutch had left him an urgent message—several hours ago.

Dobey scowled—his worried scowl.“We have an APB out on Hutchinson, and one on Zeoland and Jensen.If those two are involved, we’ll catch them.”

A trip to Zeoland’s laboratory had already yielded nothing.The doctor and his assistant were mysteriously missing, along with the last of their animals.

#

Starsky slumped at Huggy’s counter, two days later.A drink sat in front of him, barely sipped.And he hadn’t touched the plate of fries Huggy set in front of him.

“Come on, my man.You’ve got to eat something.The blond one will be okay.He’s got more lives than a cat.”

Starsky picked up a fry, eyed it, and set it down again.“I know, Huggy.I just keep wondering if he’s reached the end of them.I’ve pulled out all the stops, Hug.We can’t get anything on him.Zeoland and Jensen have skipped town, we know ‘cuz we’ve got word on ‘em crossing into Nevada.We’re tracking them down.But Hutch is just…gone.”

He shook his head, raised the beer and then put it down again.“I keep going over and over the ground.I feel like I’ve missed something.What could they have done with Hutch, to make him disappear so thoroughly—and then not even bother to hide his car?There’s more going on here…”

He stopped.

An orange cat jumped on the counter in front of him.It was light orange, with pale blue eyes and long, silky fur that was matted and mussed in spots, but still obviously soft and silky.

“Mrerw,” said the cat, right at Starsky’s face, staring at him intently.

For a second, Starsky felt a strange tingling along his lower spine.There was something about that cat…

“Hey fella.”He reached out, extending a fry to the cat.

The orange cat sniffed, and took a bite.“Mr-row,” it said again, conversationally.

“Hey, Hug.Who’s this?”He looked up at the proprietor, who was smiling at him and the cat.

“Dunno, man, he just showed up yesterday, actin’ like I was his long lost friend.He’s made himself useful, caught a few mice in the kitchen so I’ve let him stay, and thrown him a few scraps.Looks like he’s fallen on some hard times.”

Starsky’s brows rose at the mention of mice in the kitchen.His fingers stroked the cat’s side, avoiding the mats so he wouldn’t hurt the cat.

“Looks like a tom.”

“You got that right.I shut him out at night so he won’t spray the place up.”He shook his head.“Can’t be too careful with tomcats.You’re welcome to him, if you want to take the time to get him fixed and turn him into a housecat.I feel kinda bad turning him out at night.Kind of reminds me of someone.”

“Blintz,” said Starsky.(The cat looked up quickly, a puzzled look in its eye, as though trying to understand something.)“Everything reminds me of him lately.”

His eyes started to well with tears.“Ah, hell, what am I doing, messing with a cat?I’ve got to go find Hutch!”He pushed back from the counter and left the room at a quick trot.

“Mrowr!”The cat jumped off the counter with a loud thump and trotted after him.The door swung shut in front of its face, and it let out an anguished meow.Huggy strode forward and scooped it up.He patted the orange head.“Come on, my orange brother.You can’t follow where he’s going.”

The cat struggled for a moment, and got down.It entered the kitchen with long, offended strides, and sat down beside the stove.Huggy shook his head at the sulking look on its face.

“You’ll get over it, Orangey.You don’t just catch a Starsky first try.‘Sides, he’s a little occupied right now.”

The cat raised a paw to its mouth and licked, nonchalantly.

“Yeah, your pride is wounded.But he’ll be back,” said Huggy.

Then he wondered what was wrong with him, that he’d started talking to a cat.

#

Starsky was back the next day, with darker circles under his eyes.He played with the coffee Huggy gave him, dabbled his finger in it, and poured in a little cream.An orange cat jumped up silently on the counter, and weaved its way towards him, past the cup, its matted tail bopping him on the nose and brushing across his face.

“Cat!”Starsky spat out cat hairs.He picked the cat up and sat it down on the floor, looked down into his mug glumly, and the orange hairs swirling on top of it now.

“Mrow.”The cat leaped again to the counter.It sat down beside him, regarded him with clear blue eyes.They looked at one another for a moment.Then the orange cat moved to the cup of coffee, stuck one big paw in, and brought it out and licked it.He gave the paw a little shake, made a face, and sat back.

“You don’t like that?How about just some cream, huh?”Starsky reached for a saucer and poured some cream straight.He set the plate carefully down in front of the orange cat.

It looked at him haughtily for a moment, swished its tail.Then it lowered its head and drank.

“You making friends with the orange one?” said Huggy, emerging from the back room and drying his hands on a towel.

“Yeah,” said Starsky, patting the orange cat’s back.“Give him a burger sometime, huh, Hug?Put it on my bill.”

The cat’s tail swished again, whacking Starsky in the face.Starsky pulled his face back, spitting out more cat hairs.“He’s really grateful, isn’t he?”

“He’s a moody one,” agreed Huggy, trying to hide his smile.

#

The next day they caught a break.Police in Vegas saw a man trying to hitchhike who met the description of Bob Jensen.They picked him up, and booked him.

Hours later, Starsky and Dobey watched the interrogation.Vegas police had wanted to conduct it; an ego thing.The precincts were not getting along these days.Starsky and Dobey were lucky to watch.

They listened as Jensen told about how Zoeland had ditched him and made for the border.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you what happened to the cop.”He snorted.“Same thing happened to the others.Zoeland turned ‘em into animals!”He chortled for several moments, then explained what little he knew of Zoeland’s procedure.

“The cop was best of all.He turned him into a little kitty cat!Meow!”He started cackling again.

Starsky’s eyes got huge.He bolted from the room.

“Starsky!Get back here!We’re not done yet!”

“Sorry, Cap, I’ve got to go get Hutch!You’ll hafta get another ride back.”

Dobey snorted.“As if I want to ride in that car of yours again…”

Starsky ran his siren and broke the speed limit on the way back to Bay City and Huggy’s.

“Hey, cat…”He looked around.“Hug!You seen that cat?”

“Um, yeah, he’s in the back.”

“Thanks.”Starsky ran past him to the kitchen.“Hutch!Hey, Hutch!”

“You’re naming the cat ‘Hutch?’”Huggy followed.“That’s a little twisted my friend.”

“No, it’s really Hutch.I’ll explain later.Where is he?”He looked around the kitchen.

Huggy pointed at the stove.The orange cat sat scrunched up next to its warm, greasy side, his paws tucked under him.He sat on a piece of old newspaper, and regarded Starsky as dubiously as only a cat can.

“Hutch!”Starsky knelt in front of him.“Listen, buddy, I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out, but how was I supposed to know?You wanna come with me, and I’ll take you home?”He held a hand out.

The cat regarded it, and him, with a slightly haughty expression.It rose slowly, stretching front legs, then back legs, then yawning.It walked over to him nonchalantly, only the excited wobble in its raised tail betraying any excitement.

“Thataboy.”Starsky laughed, tears in his eyes, and patted Hutch.“I’ll have to start combing you, buddy.You can’t like all those mats.”

The cat allowed the stroking for a moment, then butted its head against Starsky’s hand.A loud purr began to rumble from his throat.The sound filled the kitchen.

Starsky looked up tearfully at Huggy.“He still likes me, Hug.”

“Of course he does.You’re finally treating him like royalty.Ain’t a cat alive don’t like that.”

Starsky gathered the cat carefully into his arms, hugged it a moment, then rose slowly and headed out to his car.

#

“Well, let’s see him.”Dobey stood frowning in the doorway to Starsky’s home a few hours later.He looked particularly sour.

“What’s the matter, Cap?Aren’t you glad he’s back?”

“I’d be a lot gladder if Jensen had been more help!He doesn’t know how to undo Zoeland’s results. And he’s no help finding Zoeland, either—just said he was headed to Mexico.”

Starsky’s smile dimmed.“Oh.Well, we’ll catch him, Cap.”He gave Dobey a reassuring pat on the shoulder.“In the meantime, meet the new Hutch.”Grinning, he headed further into the apartment, and called, “Hutch!Hey, Hutchy, guess who’s here to see you?”He clapped his hands and knelt down by the sofa.“Hutch!”

Dobey regarded him dubiously.“That’s how you call a dog, Starsky.”

“Come here, boy.”Starsky got up and picked the cat up.He carried him over to Dobey.“I’ve tried to brush him, but he’s still got some mats.”He held the orange cat up to Dobey.“See?Say ‘hi’ to Dobey, Hutch.”

The orange cat regarded Dobey haughtily for a moment.Then it reached a paw out towards him and began to purr.In spite of himself, Dobey looked pleased.He reached out, and the cat pushed his head into his hand.Dobey scratched behind the big, orange ears.

“He knows you,” said Starsky.He tugged lightly on the tail, stroking its furry length.“It took me awhile to figure out it was him.I am sorry about that, again, Hutch.”

The cat ignored him, and continued to purr under Dobey’s hand.

“Ahem.Maybe we’d better get down to business,” said Dobey, withdrawing his hand reluctantly.“Set him down over there, Starsk, and let’s see how much we can communicate.”

“Okay.”Starsky set the large orange cat on the kitchen table.It was a rangy, long creature with large appealing eyes and a wide face.Its fur was long and silky where it wasn’t matted.It was large without being fat, and very long for a cat.Its paws were huge.It had an air of quiet expectation as it regarded them.

“Now, Hutch, we need to know what you can understand,” said Dobey.“If you understand what I’m saying, will you please sit down?”

The cat stared at him, concentrating, as if trying to understand.

“Look, his brow is doing that thing that Hutch’s does!” exclaimed Starsky.“I swear, he’s wrinkling his brow!”He bounced excitedly in his seat.The cat looked at him, then back to Dobey.

“Hutch, SIT DOWN.”

The cat blinked.Its tail lashed.“Mrrrreow.”The sound was annoyed.Suddenly, the cat leapt off the table and bounded into the living room.They followed it, and found it sitting on the couch, washing a paw.

“Hutchy, Captain didn’t mean anything by it,” said Starsky in a caressing voice.“You wanna come here? Come here.I know you understand me.”He hunkered down in front of the cat and couch, and patted his knees.

The cat looked at him, then moved forward and pushed its face against his.It began to purr.

“See, Cap?He understands me.”Starsky turned a happy smile on Dobey.

“Ahem.Starsky.If you’ll let me.”

“Sure, Cap.”Starsky looked confused, but he traded places with the captain without complaint.

“Hutchinson.Look at me,” said Dobey.The cat eyed him, tail moving slightly side to side.It looked at his hands, then his face.Dobey spoke caressingly.“Hutchinson, you’re one of my worst detectives.I hate your guts.When this is all over I’m going to talk to IA about reprimanding you.That’s right, you big ugly furball.You should’ve called your partner.Yes you should have.”

“Cap, that’s not fair he—”

“Shh.There we go.”Hutch was rubbing against Dobey’s outstretched hand, purring loudly.

“Cap, you just—well, he knew you were joking, that’s all.” Starsky stood back, a worried look on his face.He scratched at his curls.

“Now we’ll try this.”Dobey raised his voice to a gruff bark.“Hutch!You’re one of my best detectives.You’ve got to know I love you, Ken.Is Starsky taking good care of you?Because I’ll write him up on report if he doesn’t!”

At the first sound of his raised voice, the cat recoiled.His ears went back on the gruff ‘I love you!,’ and at the end he hissed.Dobey turned to Starsky.“See?”

Starsky knelt in front of the cat, hands on his knees.“Hutch?You don’t understand anything?Not a word?Buddy?Blintz?”The cat looked up at him, a perturbed expression on its wide face.Its tail lashed, and it gave a single, distressed meow.

Starsky gathered it into his arms.“Shh.Okay.You don’t have to understand, buddy.It’s okay.”His voice broke.“Okay.”He pressed his face into the fur, and stroked the cat’s side.

After a moment, the cat began to purr.

#

Dobey didn’t visit for a whole week. “How’s the furry detective?” he said, juggling the door and an armload of tuna casserole from his wife. “Starsky?”

“Don’t let him out!” yelped Starsky, running from the bathroom.

“Mrow!” The orange cat trotted towards the door, tailed raised, an expectant look on its face. Dobey barely kicked the door shut in time.

“What’s going on?”

“Ah…Cap…” Starsky ran a hand back through his hair, an embarrassed look on his face. “Neighbor’s cat is in heat. He’s been, ah, trying to get out.”

“Oh. Back to your tomcatting ways, eh, Hutchinson?” He looked down at the orange cat. Who was now carefully cleaning his back leg and acting as if he’d had nothing else on his mind.

Dobey regarded him with an amused expression. “Well, he’s looking fat and happy. How’s it been going?”

“Oh, he’s hard to feed, Cap.” Starsky accepted the casserole with a ‘thank you.’ “One day he won’t eat anything but cream. Then it’s raw hamburger—93% lean only. Right now he won’t touch anything but kippered herrings and raw egg yolks. But I have to keep trying new things or he’ll stop eating.” He spoke seriously.

Dobey regarded the sleek, plump orange cat. It was well-groomed and fluffy, and wore an expression not unlike a contented lion. It stretched out on the floor, tail and paws outstretched, and arched his head.

It had put on at least a pound since Dobey’s last visit.

“It doesn’t look like he’s in any danger of wasting away, Starsky. Maybe you should quit babying him. You know Hutch won’t thank you if he gains a bunch of weight.”

“But Cap! I don’t want him to stop eating!”

Dobey observed the resplendent, reclining feline dubiously. “Maybe somebody else should be watching Hutchinson. He’s obviously got you wrapped around his little paw.”

“Aw, Cap! I can’t trust Hutch to anyone else! No I can’t. Nooo I can’t.” Down on his knees, he gave the orange cat a bellyrub. The cat stretched further, and began to purr, eyes half closing.

#

It was another week before they caught Zoeland. He’d been trying to cross back into the US from Mexico, and a border guard caught him.

The man was looking worse for wear, sunburned and outrageous in a flamingo Hawaiian shirt. He was stubborn—but not too stubborn to realize he had to cooperate with the police, if he wanted to see daylight again before he died.

Zoeland agreed to set up his machine, and change back all the animals he’d created and sold to zoos. He’d destroyed his records, but they had tracked down the animals already and been holding them in special care.

It took almost three days to get the equipment set up and functional, and to change the animals back. Most of them seemed disoriented, but glad to be back in their human forms. The one man who’d been a tiger kept growling, though, and wanted a steak in the worst way.

Hutch was the last up.

“Here we go, buddy.” Starsky held the cat in his arms. It started to struggle at the sight of Zoeland, and gave a peculiar meow. Starsky spent several minutes talking softly to it, and holding it before it calmed down.

Now he set the cat on the seat, and began to fasten the things on.

The cat let out a loud, strange meow, and started to struggle.

“All right, you’re going to have to hold him, Starsky,” said Dobey gruffly. He moved forward and finished the connections while Starsky held the wide-eyed frantic cat.

“Hutch, don’t scratch—” Starsky sucked in his breath as the back claws found purchase and raked his thighs in a desperate bid for freedom.

“MEOW!” Hutch was panting now, looking wildly around, digging his claws in.

Starsky set his face and hung on grimly. “Do it, Cap. I don’t know how much longer I can hold him.”

Dobey flung the switch. Zoeland, in custody, stood back, smiling ironically, enjoying the policemen’s distress.

“Oof.” Starsky found himself crushed under a large, unclothed Sergeant Hutchinson.

Hutch made a strange sound in his throat and struggled to be free, gripping at the arms of the chair with his nails, then reaching up yanking the things off.

“Hutch, you’re back, buddy. Say something.” Starsky grabbed at the large brown blanket lying beside the seat and pulled it over his friend. Hutch jumped up, and the cloth fell. Starsky picked it up and wrapped it around Hutch, tucking it carefully at his waist. “Say something,” he said quietly.

His best friend in the world was stared at him with a peculiar expression, blue eyes intense and stressed.

“Blintz,” said Starsky.

Hutch opened his mouth, as if it felt unfamiliar. “St—Starsk,” he croaked.

Starsky’s face relaxed, wreathed in smiles. “That’s right! You remember!”

“Zoeland,” said Hutch in an angry croak. His gaze ranged around the room, hungry, angry. It fell on Zoeland, and he strode over, looking more like a tiger even than he had as a cat.

“Hutch.” Starsky ran after him and caught his arm.

Hutch jerked his bare arm free, leaving Starsky off balance. Hutch’s hands formed fists.

“Hutch.” Starsky clamped his arms around Hutch, holding Hutch’s arms down. “Don’t do it. Come on. You’re better than this. Would you guys get him out of here?” he said to the cops who were supposed to be guarding Zoeland.

“That’s right—get him out of here,” snapped Dobey. “And Hutchinson. Cover up!”

Hutch glanced down. His cloth was starting to slip. With fumbling, clumsy fingers, he tucked it back in.

Starsky released him and watched him closely. “How ya feeling, Hutch? Do you remember bein’ the cat.”

Hutch swallowed. “Some. I—it was all—I didn’t have any words. And things looked and smelled different. I re—remembered you. But not…why.”

He looked at Starsky awkwardly, as if asking for absolution.

“Hey. You just remembered what you could. You did fine.” He patted Hutch’s arm—and noticed Hutch’s goose bumps. “Hey—we better get you something warmer to wear.”

#

Hutch wore clothes like he didn’t remember he needed them. He spent the next few days in a daze, looking at everything carefully, watching people and their interactions closely before venturing to say or do anything around them.

His clothes were crumpled, and he left the collars on his shirts sticking at odd angles and the buttons half undone, as if he’d forgotten in the middle what he was doing. Starsky was continually fixing him, feeling as if he’d inherited a toddler.

He caught Hutch once, with a peculiar look on his face, a handful of raw hamburger in one hand, a funny expression on his face. Hutch turned and spat in the garbage can.

“Tastes funny,” he said, wiping his mouth.

“Yeah. That’s because you’re not supposed to eat it that way.” He pried the rest gently from Hutch’s hands, his heart pounding painfully for some reason he couldn’t explain.

Hutch-the-cat had curled up next to him, or on his chest or lap, at every opportunity, and purred himself to sleep while Starsky absently petted him. The first night he was back, Hutch, looking rather lost, curled up next to him on the couch, and laid his head in Starsky’s lap. He looked up with a questioning, apologetic expression. Starsky smiled, and began to stroke the soft, pale hair. At the first touch, Hutch closed his eyes and relaxed. This was familiar, and okay.

He did remain himself enough to give Starsky a few ugly glares about how tight his pants had gotten.

“Did you have to feed me straight cream? Huh? Every time I asked? I’d almost think you wanted to fatten me up.”

This was a lot of words for Hutch these days, but Starsky just smiled at him.

“I didn’t want you to go hungry,” he said, and rubbed Hutch’s head.

He certainly wasn’t going to admit how close Hutch had gotten to the truth. All the times he’d seen his partner starving himself, or eating things that Starsky considered worse than garbage—how could he deny Hutch something tasty, when he actually wanted it?

Besides, he hadn’t gained that much weight. “We can buy you some more jeans tomorrow, if you want.”

Hutch ‘hmph’d.’ “And you can pay for them.”

In a week, he was cleared for duty. Dobey was too swamped to consider giving him more time off, even though he seemed to notice that things were quite the same with Hutch, too.

Sometimes Hutch still wore that lost, questioning look, as if he were looking around trying to figure out why anyone would sit in a cramped room pounding the keys of a typewriter, or wait to cook food before eating it.

The first time he went to Huggy’s, the reunion was something. Hutch got a huge grin on his face, and wrapped his arms around the black man. Huggy thumped him on the back, hugging back just as hard, and laughed.

“My man, you get a big burger—on the house!” For once, Huggy didn’t seem to know what to say. And Hutch didn’t say anything. But the gratitude was there.

Though his memory of being a cat seemed sketchy at best, the knowledge of Huggy’s help during that tough time seemed to transcend memory. Starsky realized the two were going to be even closer friends after this, and couldn’t help but smile.

Time passed.

Hutch began to really seem like himself again. He got feisty again—scolding Starsky about leaving a half-empty box of pizza sitting out. Bugging Starsky about his car. Turning up his nose at hamburgers and French fries. He ate salads for lunch, curtailing his eating sharply until the lean look returned, and he was wearing his old pants again.

People stopped giving him looks in the hall, probably because he stopped looking so lost. Starsky didn’t have to fix his collars and buttons and turn down his sleeves anymore.

One night, when Starsky was staying over on the couch, he woke up at the sound of Hutch whimpering. Ever in tune to his partner, Starsky made a beeline for Hutch’s bedroom.

“Hutch? You okay?” Hutch was tossing and turning; Starsky shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up, huh?”

“Huh? Starsk?” Hutch sat up and gripped Starsky’s arm, hard. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “It was nasty, Starsk. I was running…chasing…through the grass. And I caught it, and broke its spine.” He shuddered.

“What was it?” Starsky felt his eyes widen in spite of himself. Wow, Hutch had some pretty violent dreams!

“A mouse.” Hutch shuddered. “And then…I think…I ate it. I didn’t eat any mice when I was a cat, did I, Starsky?” he appealed. “I mean, I was a real picky eater, right? Just cream and hamburger and things like that.”

“Uh—yeah,” said Starsky, mentally crossing his fingers. Maybe Huggy wouldn’t say anything about the hungry alley cat he’d adopted, the one who’d kept the kitchen free from mice.

#

“Mr. Starsky. Where’s that orange cat you used to have?” Starsky’s neighbor stuck her head out of her door and smiled at Starsky and Hutch, who’d been walking past.

“Uh—” Starsky paused, his hand unconsciously reaching back to grip Hutch’s arm. “He had to…he left.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. You seemed really fond of him.”

Starsky cast Hutch an embarrassed look. Hutch gave him a smile, and raised one eyebrow.

“Anyway,” continued the neighbor blithely, “if you want another one, you can have one of these. I’m pretty sure they’re his kittens! You don’t run across a shade of orange that distinct every day.”

“What!? Let me see!” Starsky shouldered past her, and gaped at the box of nursing kittens. A sleek, fawn-colored cat looked up at him with the air of being elsewhere and much occupied. Six orange kittens clustered around her, silky and soft and adorably cute—all of them with big paws.

“Hutch.” Starsky turned an expression of disgust on his friend.

And then he shut up. Hutch wouldn’t hear him now, anyway.

He was looking at the kittens. An arrested expression on his face, Hutch reached in, and carefully touched their fur, almost as if afraid he’d break them.

The mama cat turned her pale green eyes on him, and he stilled. A strange expression crossed his face, as though remembering something far away and in a dream. The cat looked at him closely for a moment, lashed her tail once, and then turned to lick one of the kittens on the head. Her expression was proprietary, satisfied. She ignored Hutch and paid close, proud attention to the kittens.

Hutch drew back and ran a hand back through his hair. “Uh—we’ll help you find homes for them. Good homes.”

“Damn right,” said Starsky in a furious undertone.

“G—” Hutch started to say goodbye, but Starsky yanked him by the arm and pulled him back down the path.

“How’d you get out? I was so careful!”

“Starsk, I don’t  _remember_ ,” said Hutch in an agony of embarrassment. “Keep your voice down.”

“You just better find very good homes for those kittens—those little Hutchinsons. I’m not having your kids running wild and eating mice—whatever father did.” He cast Hutch a narrow-eyed glare.

Hutch’s expression turned slightly green. “Ugh—you mean—?”

Starsky’s eyes hooded slightly, and he just looked at Hutch. Crossed his arms and tapped his foot.

“Awwww…” Hutch turned and made a dash for the bushes.

“Serve you right for making kittens,” said Starsky in an angry undertone. He listened for a moment, and his expression turned to one of watchful concern. “Hutch? You okay?” He followed.

#

The boys stopped by with a cardboard box, and spoke to Harold out front, while he was taking a break from mowing. Mrs. Dobey stopped to watch from the kitchen. Starsky and Hutch looked uncharacteristically hesitant and embarrassed. It was odd to see them that way.

Harold accepted the box, looked in it—and began to laugh. Hutch’s face and neck flushed so red she could see it from the kitchen. Starsky tugged on his arm. The two of them left in Starsky’s flashy red car.

Then Harold brought the orange kitten in, and she understood. “Little dear.” She picked up the kitten. It mewed unhappily. “What should we name him?”

“Starsky suggested ‘Blintz.’ But I think we should let Rosey and Hal name him.”

The kitten grew up to have disconcertingly aware eyes, a sweet, slightly aloof personality, and very big paws.

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